


War Of Counterparts

by RaberandBee



Category: Original Work
Genre: Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Counterparts - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Forced Fighting, Human Trafficking, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Other, Starvation, Superpowers, dark/light - Freeform, slave fighting, sorry - Freeform, this is just my own thing, this is original work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-01-05 00:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12179268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaberandBee/pseuds/RaberandBee
Summary: This is a personal work of fiction by myself,Janus, and a Ranger. I don't expect anyone to read this.----Two boys. One of darkness... One of light... In this world where there are hidden magicks and counterparts.Poor Adrian finds himself in an even deeper pit than being forced to fight the fellow men who too had been taken from their homes.He unintentionally imprints on a strange boy who's selectively mute and is book smart beyond belief. A silent boy with a strange pet who knows nothing of the world outside of his home walls.He imprints himself onto an unsuspecting counterpart.And he doesn't know until it's too late.





	1. I Will Live

_ "Shh, love," she runs her hand up my spine. I try to pull from her touch. "Mama please... That hurts." _

_ "It's okay, baby. You did great during the clean up. You'll heal just fine."  _

_ "'M sorry, Mama."  _

_ "It's okay, love. Just listen to me next time. Listen to me and you won't get hurt, okay?" _

_ My back burns. Mama has me on my side and my face on her thigh. I breathe in and out in hopes to ease the pain.  _

_ Sudden pressure of sharp nails squeeze my cheeks and force me to look up to her. She smiles nicely to me. I hate her smile.  _

_ "Verbal response, baby." _

_ I shake my head, "Yes... Okay, Mama." _

_ She shoves my face back into her lap and continues to run her nails up my marred skin. I hate lashings. But we had a complaint. I shouldn't have fought him... I forced Mama to punish me. _

_ "It's time to go to bed, bug. Someone will be here in ten minutes." _

_ A familiar pinch in my neck seeps a coldness under my skin and flows.  _

_ Mama said if I make enough tonight, she'll let me eat two days in a row. She's even letting me sleep through this one.  _

_ She really loves me. I wonder if she will let me have cake this year? I am turning double digits soon! I can be an adult.... too... _

_ "Mama? For... my bir-fday... I... wanna be..... free." _

_ "You can't leave----" It's black. _

_ I love the dark. _

\----

"Oi, fuck'a! Wake up," A smack to my cheek has me gripping a wrist and forcing a body closer so my foot can reach and press on a throat. 

"Why the fuck did you wake me?"

"Easy, man. Y'ere screamin 'gain. We wanna sleep, too," I sigh and release him. The man goes tumbling back.

"Right, fine."

I force myself out of my makeshift bed of bloody linens. Shit, my arms still busted. I was able to set it back in place and wrap it, but it still hurts like'a bitch.

I sit in my claimed corner and watch everyone else. Some just sit there in their broken spirits. Some watch me in their paranoia. To them, I am a devil.

These men.. They were pulled from their families... work places... bars... friends... home. I'm a kid to them. How old am I, anyway? I was... thirteen when I came 'ere. I was taken by a customer some couple'a months ago.

I like this place 'lot better than the rat hole with that bitch. I'd rather break every bone in my body before going back to her. 

These people aren't murders. They aren't rapists. Or they weren't before they came. They might have been drunks or thieves. Maybe beat their family 'round. 

But they didn't have the life I did. 

Their bodies weren't shaped by malnutrition and corsets. They didn't have to steal... Kill... Give themselves up just to eat once a week. If I wanted out of my piss and shit, I had to go out and make money any way I knew how. I had to make men and women alike want me. I was give my mother's hips with her constant shaping. I have her 'pretty features' as I was often reminded of. I still have all this heavy hair, too...

I was weak. I couldn't fight or easily kill someone like my mother could. I could barely walk. I could barely.... I wasn't alive. Here... 

I get a meal everyday. I get communal showers twice a week. I am caged with the more human animals. All the crazier or broken monsters are held in personal cages. I know... I was in there once or twice when I first came here.

It's lightless, but we still have a bathroom with sparse light and have entry to it for two consecutive hours. 

It's a weird place... But... I rather this than... her.

These people are starving and dying every second. I am thriving. 

I am alive. 

I will stay alive. I will win all my fights.

I will live. 

"87"

It's my go. If I win? I get two meals and a private shower. I will win. I always do.


	2. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He lets go. He lives on.

“Hands, 87.”

I put my wrists through the cage door, they cuff me hard. The cuffs scratch and slice at my wrists uncomfortably when I move, but by now my wrists are scared enough for the skin to go thick.

Thankfully, I’m use’ta bonds ‘fore this place. Not usually metal cuffs with the insides sharpened, but… Y’get the gist.

 

The men aim their guns into the room as they open the cage door. With one aimed at my side, I stand still while my ankles are cuffed and chain linked to my wrists.

They tug on the link, jostlin’ the sharp insides on my ankles and wrists.

 

“Walk, 87.”

They use ‘yer number every time they talk to ‘ya. If they haven’t broken ‘ya, can’t fuck you to submission, then they dehumanize ya ‘till you stop seein’ yerself anymore. ‘Till everythin’ ya thought you knew disappears in a faded memory. Until you know nothin’ but yer number and how to fight or fuck.

 

They stopped tryin’ to fuck me when I killed every fuckin’ one of them after they were done. Picked ‘em off one by one.

They have a betta’ time watchin’ me fight and make ‘em money than just ‘nother kids ass ta use.

 

“Stop, 87.”

 

My chains stop dragging with a grading noise when we make it to the cage. This cage has a door in it and a light. You wait ‘till the light goes green, then enter into the main cage. ‘Till then, you eat.

 

Inside the dim cage is a plate with a roll, some typ’a meat I assume, and a steamed potato. Next to it is half a cup of milk and half a cup of water.

That is the typical meal they give before the fights. It’s a training, I think.

They unlock the cage and force me in. Not that I'm fightin’ them.

Before they shut the door, they remove my ankle bonds, yet again a gun pressed against my side.

They close the door and remove the bonds to my hands. I rub them out and sit on the metal floor waiting instruction. If I act without instruction, they electrocute the cage and volt me inside it with no place to escape the high power shock. I can’t afford to be drained of energy ‘fore a match.

 

“Eat, 87.”

 

Mama taught me this. It’s associating me eatin’ with me fightin’. I hate that it works, too. But I don’t actually mind too much.

It’s also another type’a training. You can’t eat too much or you will slow with digestion. But you need to eat to survive another day. I don’t know what they think they will gain from it, but I can’t say I mind. I can’t... I am just a number.

 

I eat a part of the potato and mix some of my water with my milk. I sip on the watered down milk and chew on the roll I cut and put meat in. I eat all the meat, but refrain from eatin’ myself sick by removing it from the stale bread before I finish the meat. I nibble on the potato and sip the milk. Sure to keep a pace and not choke.

 

Many make the mistake of piggin’ out and makin’ themselves sick. They become heavy and tired. Their brain screams for more food because they eat too fast.

But I pace myself.

 

The light turns yellow, it means get ready. I sip the water I didn’t mix with the milk and swish it, gargle, and spit back into the cup. Tastin’ the food will make me crave it more.

 

I stand and wait by the heavy metal door.

 

The light turns green, the door opens, and I walk through.

 

I am 87.

But after this I will be 88.

My number will rise, not matter my busted arm I adamantly ignored this entire time.

 

The crowds are deafenin’ but I adjust quickly.

The man being released comes from the individual cages. He is a dog now.

No longer a human, just a pathetic broken piece’a shit.

 

His hands twitch and he grins at what he assumes is easy prey.

I let my face drop into a fearful. I know what I look like. My hair is long, lashes long and dark, curvy torso, wide hips, thin, small. I look like a broken in little lamb. My steps are short, my body is shakey. My arm is battered in obvious bruises. My throat has finger bruise marks.

I keep my head tilted down and barely make eye contact. My good arm draws around my waist.

 

Innocent lamb.

 

“Come’on, puppet. If you quit now, I’ll fuck ya nice and slow.”

The winner chooses if the loser can go to their cell or come back theirs. Some fuck them, some steal their few belongings, some kill them or even eat them.

 

Except he doesn’t know my history here. Most’a the caged ones wouldn’t. Us cell blockers keep to ourselves and the guards don’t care enough’ta talk to the cages.

Not gonna lie, some cocky assholes will start shit, but they typically don’t in the cell block. When I was a cage, some of the guards would fuck with us and start shit. Spray us with cold water, bang on the cells, dumb annoyin’ shit like that. Drove us mad. So, I bit out that fucker’s artery in his neck when they got me out.

I was put down fer it and beatin’ in solitary for three days, stuck in there for a week. They had me in the infirmary for a few days.

The only reason they didn’t kill me was ‘cause they didn’t like the douche anyway and I bring in lot’a money. But that doesn’t make me indispensable. I’m not naive. People can hold grudges, they make pack bonds. ‘Accidents happen’ and ‘no one saw who did it’.

Like I said, no one even liked him, anyway.

  


“Good slut, on your knees.” The dog brought me back to my mind. Shit, I need to keep on that. It was only a few sparing seconds, but that could’a killed me.

 

I should be pent up in instincts, but I lost the drive of survival long ago in that sense. I won’t let anyone make me a victim doll again.

I drop to my knees.

But I can play the role.

 

The crowds shout. If the dog paid attention to their voices, he might have caught onto me. Some fucks are yellin’ at him not to do it. Some are cheering him on.

 

They know me. They know my number.

They be shoutin’ it, now.

I am the only one known with a number anymore.

 

This dog hasn’t been here long enough to know those with a high enough kill count use to use numbers as names. I was here not a month ‘fore breakin’ the system. Too high’a number for anyone else to matter.

Never lost a match, I am the only one to ever survive a match with me.

That’s not true…

Sorry, I lied.

One man on my first night. He survived long enough to try to take me back to his cell for a fucktoy. But I clung to his back and bashed his head into the concrete floor. Guards watched, cell blockers cheered in their maddness, and I was left as a cage with the rotting corpse for three days before they cleaned it out.

To be fair, I used it to sleep on to make a statement. Before he went stiff ‘n cold, I arranged his body to cross his legs and cut his shirt and tied his wrists and elbows with it, pulled the cloth behind his head, and situated his arms like armrests.

I made my point and slept in the human made rotting chair.

They had to take it out, put me to sleep to do it.

 

Look at that, I regaled a story without spacin’ out! Good for me.

 

Still on me knees, I wait for the top heavy man to get closer. He intends to make me blow him infront of the crowd. He plans to make me a doll.

 

_“I love you, my pretty little doll.”_

 

I am not your doll. I’m not her doll. Never again.

 

He has a weak knee. He favors his right side. He swings his arm too loosely, he is cocky. He is leaving his torso open. I pinch and raise my brows, widen my eyes, look up through my long lashes, leave my lips open a little. My shoulders dropped not threatenly.

 

It’ll be hard to move quickly from this position. When he gets in close enough range, I could try to kick out his knee, but it’ll be difficult to move my leg from where I am using it to keep balance. I could lift off weight from my dominate knee descretely, but it’ll put strain and tire out my other knee. I could cock punch him, but even though he looks loose, he might have good reflexes. He would react before I could reel my arm back. But I don’t need much strength to hurt him there.

No time to think anymore, he’s too close.

 

Instinct.

 

His hand reaches to grab my hair, I fall back and kick my dominant leg out, nailing him in the cock with all my strength I could sum up. I roll over to the left side, his weak side as he falls forward. He swings his arm out to grab me, I dart up as fast as I could using the momentum of the roll to round about and cling to his back. I wrap my forearm over his throat and grab my other forearm to clinch onto.

 

It burns and screams for relief. I forgot about my arm.

Fuck.

Don’t let go, just force him to roll on top of me on his back. I am small enough he can’t elbow back onto me and forcing him over me makes it harder to move. Like a turtle stuck on it’s back. I can handle his weight, and he can’t drop his weight with enertia.

 

But my arm can’t last.

 

He thrashes and spits with every yell. His hands pull at my arm. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I can’t lift my hips or legs.

Okay, I’ll have to get him sitting up. But that gives him a chance to drop down on me. But if I can get him up, I can wrap my legs into the loops of his arms and force his arms behind him. Then I can snap his neck. But his arms are probably stronger than my legs.

I’m losing grip of my arm. I try tightening over his throat, but I am going weak.

I have to get out of this.

He will be tired from his thrashing and lack of oxygen.

Okay. I loosen my grip a bit more then tighten hard and fast, hoping to damage his windpipe.

He coughs out violently, I release and back away quickly taking a glance behind me. They’ve pit another man in here before while I was distracted. And thankfully I did look back. A brick.

 

I deliver a swift kick to his liver while he was catching his breath.

 

“Yo-- bitc-” He hacks more air in. “You bitch!”

 

The ground is concrete.

I grab the bald oily head and force him down by the nape of his neck.

I could tear out his throat, but I don’t want to vomit his blood out, and the brick is close enough to grab without giving him time to restabilize.

 

His face cracks down, but I hadn’t expected him to grab me since I was on his left side. He flung me to the ground and got above me.

I squeeze my thighs, but he works them open, needing only one hand to hold both of mine above my head.

He’s between my legs. No.

No.

No.

No.

Nononononononononono

 

My chest feels full. My lungs swells too large for my chest. My skin is too tight. I have to get out of it. I have to release this building pressure that’s followed me all my life.It’s suffocating.

I just have to let go. It’ll keep me safe.

 

**Please. Please. Please. Safe.**

 

I scream a bloody shriek to discombobulate. I let it rush out of me, eyes squeezed tight.

 

I open them when the man above me screams with me. Something moves under his skin. It’s angry, flicking, festering.

 

It’s trapped. It needs released. I needs out. I can free it.

 

I scream again.

 

 **“GET OUT!”** My throat feels raw. I taste blood. I am so tired.

But I scream with everything I am.

His skin moves, people are shouting not knowing what they’re seeing. I don’t know what I am seeing. I just know.

It needs to be free.

I has to be freed.

I can free it.

 

His skin stretches and swells as he claws at his neck and arm.

It tears open and his being combusts.

 

I released the shadows from his insides. No darkness exists inside of him. It is all exposed by the blaring stage lights.

But I am not. The lights shine down on me, but I am surrounded. Thick fog escapes the man’s entrails and baths me in darkness, hiding me from all that has hurt me.

 

**You are safe.**

 

I stare down at my hands, at the blood coating us, then at the people flooding out of the stands. At the men outside of the cage surrounding me, guns aimed at me.

 

**Danger.**

 

My vision clouds with darkness. I am blacking out. I love the darkness…

Is.. Mom? No. 

But a woman. A woman, anger swarming her features. Pale skin, bright fiery hair, and destruction in her eyes. She is bright like a flame, but around her collects moisture.

The men surrounding me shouting for surrender, scream. Their skin becomes shiny. No, reflective. Liquid leaks from their pores, go airborne, and collect around the woman until they are nothing but husks.

The darkness is still trying to force me to sleep.

I fight it. I need to see her. She..

 

**Sleep.**


End file.
